


Don't you worry child (see heaven's got a plan for you)

by Kroissant



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emilia is a mix of the two and I love her, F/M, Family Feels, Songfic, begins with a bedtime story, fanfic based off the fanfic of The One by Nenalata, my contribution for sylcedes week, oc child - Freeform, semi-sequel to Hallelujah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kroissant/pseuds/Kroissant
Summary: “The boy and his family didn’t get along so well. His father was always out and about, his mother, well-disciplined but not the warmest woman.”...Maybe, just this once, he’ll turn back the sands of time.A conglomerate of suffering and agony, back to a time where he felt helpless, voiceless, a defective with little to no value. To a time where he would bleed and plead and do the most irrational things, just to feel whole and loved.And then there was his oldest brother,” Sylvain said, closing his eyes. “...who hated the boy with every fiber of his being.”***semi-sequel to Hallelujah, fanfic in response to Nenalata's fanfic, 'The One'***
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Mercedes von Martritz, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11
Collections: Sylcedes Week 2020





	Don't you worry child (see heaven's got a plan for you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nenalata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/gifts).



> So this is something I've been planning to write for awhile. From the looks of it, Sylcedes week 2020 is probably finished so I wanna take this time to thank my lovely online friend and 'big sister' @Nenalata for her effort in making such heartfelt/heart-crushing sylcedes fanfics!
> 
> I'm still halfway done finishing your fanfic, 'The One' but it's also been my dream to write a fanfic in response to YOUR fanfic (INSERT MINDBLOWN GIF HERE) or to some extent, a semi-sequel to my previous Sylcedes fanfic, 'Hallelujah'
> 
> One last thing: I've returned in using the FF7 Remake/Felannie writing template and I'm thinking, from the looks of it, I've slowly found my own writing voice.
> 
> Okay, that's enough out of me!
> 
> Grab a box of tissues and enjoy!

“Father, tell me a bedtime story.”

Sylvain halts in his steps and glances over his shoulder. In the dimly-lit bedroom, he spots his six-year-old daughter tucked under the covers, arms curled up around her stuffed doll. Her eyes, big and wide and shy of violet. Her small mouth opens as if to say something, a soundless whisper which may not be enough to enlighten his ears. Even so, the mild look of peculiarity was one that he knew all too well.

“Pretty please?” _Ah, there it is._

Sylvain puts a hand on his hip, the silver streak of his grin obscured under the shade of the darkness. “Emilia, you should be sleeping.”

“I’m not sleepy yet.”

A low, airy chuckle escapes from the man and Emilia pouts as her pudgy, round face burns in bright crimson.

“In a few minutes, you will be,” Sylvain points out after a long pause.

“Father, please?”

Just one look into her eyes and Sylvain would be wrapped around her tiny finger within seconds. _No, not tonight._ He steeled himself, _Mercedes is waiting for me._

“Father, just one story.”

_Fight it, Sylvain. Fight it. Do NOT look into her eyes._

“Daddyyyy, pleaseeee!”

The sudden change in honorifics catches him off guard. Sylvain draws in a sharp intake, hoping to ease the tingling sensation coursing through his veins like wildfire.

“DADDYYY!”

Sylvain returns to her side in slow strides, hanging his head in shame and defeat as his little girl cheered over her little victory of winning her over. He sits on the edge of her hefty bed and raises one finger. “Fine. _One_ story,”

Emilia nods profusely. “One story,” She agrees.

Sylvain chuckles, pinching the bridge of her small red nose and then doing the same to her puffy, red cheeks. “And after this, we sleep,”

“Yup!” She reaffirms, grinning away.

With the tilt of his head, Sylvain proceeds to scoot a little bit closer to her, elevating his long legs and laying them out though was mindful not to hit her small feet.

A pair of brown eyes glaze over to the half-closed door. An image of his lovely wife resurfaces from the back of his mind, a reminder that he shouldn’t be staying here any longer. Still, Sylvain tries hard not to look nor sound disdainful in any way.

Mercedes and their master bedroom will have to wait.

Because tonight was him and his little princess.

A slight tug on his sleeve forces Sylvain out of his thoughts. He spares a glance to his right where he finds himself drowning into his daughter’s lovely irises, the same ones he fell for and still do.

He leans forward, carding his large hand through her untamed mane in gentle strokes if she were made of glass.

“Daddy! I want YOU to pick the story!” Emilia cries, clutching her doll to her chest.

A smirk crosses his features, one inscribed with mischief. “I don’t know, buttercup. The stories I like might not be your liking.”

“That’s okay!” Emilia coiled her hands into fists, her head held high with assertiveness. “I’m a big girl! I can handle it!” And she meant it every time. It’s little moments like these that Sylvain couldn’t help but feel pleased with how uncannily alike his wife and daughter truly were.

Sylvain leans back against the headboard, folding an arm behind his head.

“Well, let’s see now...” He looks around, mindful of the many stuffed toys and presents piling up near the corner of her dresser, many of which were given by longtime comrades-in-arms and her designated godfathers and godmothers.

Shrouded in the dark, Sylvain sees it; a tattered looking banner, tinged in bloody red and marigold. At the very heart of the madness was a spiral-like vortex, mangled and mauled in a sinister display, edges sharp and torn. Wicked and diabolic as its moniker.

The ever so infamous Crest of Gautier.

_His_ crest.

The gears in his head begin to turn. Sylvain averts his gaze to his daughter, her head propped up on the side of his right arm, waiting patiently for him to begin his tale.

"There once was a boy who lived in a tower," He starts, eyes glued to the banner. "He was born into a high-class family, his life supplied with countless riches, tributes, and expectations." His smile falters as the weight of his heart sinks in.

“But he was stuck, you see. For the tower wasn’t fit for a boy nor anyone for that matter, to be there in the first place.”

“Why was he even in there?” Emilia suddenly questioned, a twinge of curiosity and confusion dancing in her features. “ Did he do something wrong? Something dez-pee-capple?”

Sylvain smirks, flashing his daughter a look. “You mean despicable?”

Emilia flushed red. “Oh.” And then nods profusely again, beaming. “Yeah, that!”

Sylvain chuckles, dipping to peck her on the side of her head. By the gods, how was she so freaking adorable? Alas, the euphoric feeling didn’t last for long. He takes a moment to collect himself and when he looks at his right, his heart stops.

How her eyes drooped and inside them were nothing but sorrow and worry. To the people he told this story wore a disguise, a mask of pity, and a smile that couldn't reach their eyes. Then again, such a reaction was to be expected as the teller was none other than him—the great philanderer, fated to meet the receiving end at any moment.

Thankfully, Emilia proved to be unlike the rest, with a few notable folks who defied the odds and stayed by his side, all these years.

“Did nobody like him?”

Sylvain wraps an arm over her small frame, and when she snuggles closer to his chest, he tightens his hold on her, afraid to let her go. “The boy had something everybody wanted but couldn't have.”

“Well, what was it? A toy?”

Sylvain smirks at his daughter’s innocent answer. But he shakes his head, debunking it entirely. “A crest.”

“Crest?”

“In his world, not everybody is born equal," Sylvain explains away, careful not to use big words so she can understand. "Young or old, girl or boy, rich or poor. Even with all the power in the world, nobody will care. But with a crest…"

“You can have it all?”

Sylvain smiles sorrowfully. “Pretty much.”

“Daddy, what _is_ a Crest?”

Words fail him as Sylvain simply lays there, a blank expression crossing his features. He glances at his daughter who looks back at him with childlike wonder. She was innocent, so pure and full of hope and so much like her mother. _Thank the goddess she takes after Mercedes._

“The boy and his family didn’t get along so well. His father was always out and about, his mother, well-disciplined but not the warmest woman.”

...Maybe, just this once, he’ll turn back the sands of time. A conglomerate of suffering and agony, back to a time where he felt helpless, voiceless, a defective with little to no value. To a time where he would bleed and plead and do the most irrational things, just to feel whole and loved.

And then there was his oldest brother,” Sylvain said, closing his eyes. “...who hated the boy with every fiber of his being.”

.

.

.

A push and shove, and an instant dive into the well.

_“Yell all you want but nobody’s going to rescue you so give up.”_

No voice, no sounds, no rescue.

Trapped, alone, and freezing still in knee-deep, icy waters with his first kiss deliberately from death herself.

At eight-years-old, Sylvain Jose Gautier believed that this was an act of God. Deep down, he knew he deserved it, simply for being born with a Crest and being favored by mother and father, despite his hierarchical standing in the family.

But of course, things didn’t turn out the way it was planned.

What was supposed to be considered a great blessing has caused nothing but great ruin.

Twas the start of Sylvain Jose Gautier’s journey.

.

.

As much as he loved his friends equally, there was a side of him that loathed them to the bitter core.

Felix had Glenn.

Ingrid and her two older brothers.

Even Dimitri had someone to confide in, who held a close-knit bond with his father and stepmother.

All three of them had something, someone who loved them.

Almost everyday, father was either absent in family gatherings or preferred to be by his lonesome. Mother was the same, left to her own devices, and drinking away her worries in the dark.

Then there was Miklan, left to his own accord, invisible and dispensable, easily shelved away in favor of a worthy inheritor who happens to be the spare.

There were many times Sylvain would wander through the long and empty halls, either to the library for a means of distraction or in the stables, where he’ll care for the manes and other animals. One day, he encounters a tower.

No colors or fancy furniture. No living or breathing person. In complete shambles, and devoid of life and purpose. Dingy, creepy, vacant. It was perfect.

Every day, he'll rush in and take a wooden stool, propping his arms on the windowpane and marvel at the natural beauty of the land he was doomed to one day reign over.

The tower, as isolated as it was, became his secret haven.

_Mine alone._

.

.

.

When news rang out that Miklan had run away, neither parents took action or attempted to call the neighboring nobles to come and aid in their search.

**_“An unwanted child such as he belongs out in the wild.”_** Margrave Gautier once said aloud at the dining table, ushering a servant to take away the chair next to his right. **_“He was born unlucky and we don’t tolerate any of that in this house.”_**

Since that day, Sylvain felt truly alone.

More so that his brother was able to flee and defy all and escape. He wasn’t jealous.

Nope, not one bit.

.

.

.

A kiss on the hand, a kiss on the cheek, and then on the lips.

A shiver, a whimper, a careless whisper, and that was it; that was all it took for him to get addicted to the game.

To fill in that void, he goes on a merry pursuit for silver and gold, to have and to hold.

Time and time again, it wasn’t enough to satisfy his thirst, his hunger, his torment.

“More,” he would say. “I need more.” And every time, he convinces himself that that was all he needed, what he wanted, his self-remedy to feel whole again.

And he would drown, under the sheets and satin of dresses, and it never gets hold.

Anything, anyone to keep him sane and afloat, a reminder that he’s here and existing, alive and still breathing.

That he is Sylvain and not a Gautier.

Just Sylvain.

Once the clock strikes twelve, the moment ends and reality hits him hard.

_Worthless. Meaningless._

A new dawn awaits for his return and Sylvain leaves them without so much as a note or farewell, he leaves without so much as a goodbye or “that was great. Let’s do it sometime again.”

Still, women flock to him as if he were the last bucket of water in all the land.

Sylvain takes them greedily by the hand, and the cycle repeats. Again and again.

He was only sixteen.

.

.

.

“Be on your best behavior. You are representing the House of Gautier.”

Garreg Mach Monastery.

Of course, with connections from the royal family and of noble standing, it didn’t come as a surprise that he would be there.

“Ingrid, my oldest friend!”

“Hey, Felix! Long time no see!”

“His Highness! A pleasure to meet you again!”

Greetings come and go like the breeze and Sylvain takes his free time seriously to track and woe every lass he could find.

There, he meets her: a girl of a different kind; one with an open heart and a glassy smile. She stands tall and with elegance, and takes her time praying to the Goddess. Her patience was that of a saint. And she _was_ a literal saint, through and through.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a Crest. I want to see the _real_ you.”

True beauty in hindsight, with marks and scars she conceals very well under those satin robes of hers.

She bore a secret, an intriguing one, wrapped in pain and torture.

Her life, like his own, had been pre-ordained by the validity of her Crest. And yet, she withstood them all, and like her magic hands, can dispel the demons crawling out to swallow her whole.

"Oh, Mercedes, I love you! Let's run away together, get married, and have lots of Crest babies!”

“Sure, sure.”

She plays along with his shenanigans, which became all the more reassuring for him. He too basks at the moment that for once, someone understood him and for who he truly was: a broken young man in need of companionship.

That Mercedes von Matritz truly was a special girl.

.

.

.

At long last, the brothers finally meet. _But not like this._

The human flesh of Miklan was no more and what came of it was something terrifying. Sinister. The brother he knew and once loved transformed into a hideous creature. A beast. His obsession to acquire a Crest, to be able to wield the overbearing power of the Lance of Ruin that he was promised to have, came at a steep price.

His life was bargained and was taken away.

And there he lay, his rotten carcass bathed in a bloody pool.

He fought, he survived, and then nothing. His effort to be recognized, to be accepted and loved by their parents, come all for naught.

“Miklan...my brother.” _I’m sorry. I’m sorry it had to be this way._

A firm squeeze on his shoulder and Sylvain jolts back to reality. Mercedes's lovely face is scrunched up. It doesn't suit her. "We need to go."

He had to turn away from the sight. He needed to keep moving forward. And yet, in the pit of his stomach, the dreaded voices from his past haunt him. Later that night, he lets the nightmares of his mistakes, his failures overtake him.

_It should’ve been me._

.

.

.

A snap of his finger and a horde of bandits burst into flames.

Sylvain watches with little to no apathy as their terrified faces melt and mold and turns into charcoal. The howling groans of the dead keep him awake and quaking for many long nights.

He burns and flickers like the flames, waiting for the fateful day when someone finally takes him out of his misery, extinguishing his fire and all that’s left would be nothing but ashes of his remains.

**“...Burn till we meet again.”**

.

.

.

After the loss of Professor and the declaration of war, Sylvain returns home, back to the confinements of his prison. Father is busy as usual with his meetings and mother having little to no time in the day to drink tea with him in the gardens. Sylvain pays no mind to it, prepared with a rehearsed smile as he reenters the tower, filling his days with board games and ‘floundering’ around with the younger maids within the local area.

Locked in his tower, he writes letters to ‘escape’. Ingrid and Felix were the first two on his priority list, and at times, would find himself expressing interest in Ashe who had been under Gilbert's wing, Annette, and her silly little ways to recommend him books to pass the time.

And then there was Mercedes.

Secretly, he wrote to Annette regarding her whereabouts. Sadly, the bubbly girl lost contact with her oldest friend. "She must be with her mother and stepfather somewhere," She would write, "Knowing Mercie, she's probably helping others who need it the most."

Sylvain thinks long and hard about this. Every passing minute or so, the young woman with her angelic smile would cross his mind, and his stomach flips. He itches to write to her, to tell her of his slow and uneventful agenda as the days grow long and predictable, how he often reminisces the good old times when he was in Garreg Mach, and then how her words still resonate him, and how sometimes when he gazes up at the clouds, he gets reminded of her fluffy hair and tranquil smile.

Each time that happens, he’ll rush off and saddle upon his trusty steed, adamant to go out there and search for her. He would do so every morning, be the first one to wake up and start his day with a bit of patrolling.

By nightfall, Sylvain comes home, dead tired and disappointed as he sluggishly makes his way back to his prison.

The sharp eyes of his Mother and Father burn into his skin, but he pays no mind to the sweltering pain. They would scold him to eat, bathe, and then rest and as always, Sylvain would quietly do so in his own accord.

There he lays on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes losing its fiery glow. But he makes up for it in dreams, and in there, he finds her again in the tower, staring out of his window in complete awe.

Her name alone never fails to make his heart leap, his mouth dry and he hungers for a little moment with her.

His heart aches for her, to be with her. And that’s when he realizes--that that was all he ever wanted.

.

.

.

The reunion came as expected.

With Ingrid and Felix at his side, the three childhood friends headed off to go to Garreg Mach...only, it came with more surprises. Professor Byleth is alive and so was the long lost-supposed dead Prince, returned to the living.

Ashe and Gilbert were there.

Annette and...Mercedes.

Mercedes.

She’s alive and well. And she looked different. _Good_ different.

_Bless the Gods._

In five years, Sylvain could finally breathe.

.

.

.

Mercedes was just like him as he was with her.

Both wore a mask and a passable smile that would let others turn a blind eye to.

He was unloved, vulnerable, and broken. _So was she._

She was resilient, a fighter. _Not so much as he._

Until…

“EMILIE!”

...her luck runs out.

Sylvain lands the final strike and down he goes, assumedly Mercedes’s younger brother.

Beloved Emile.

And he walks away, the tip of his relic dripping with a fresh coat of blood. It pulsates excitedly under his grip/beneath his fingertips, the crest stone of his family crest, Gautier, glows brightly and it frightens him.

A monster.

He was a monster. Just like Miklan.

“I’m sorry.”

Her muffled wailings that night would later torment him as he sleeps, and how the mighty mask he wore had fallen, broken into pieces as he would too, eventually succumb to his defeat and cry as well.

For him and her.

For the poor lost soul that was once Emilie.

.

.

.

Mercedes the angel, a paragon of virtue to those who she touches with her kind hands and loving smile.

And he? Spawn of the devil, undeserving of any love, exactly as it should be.

After the recent battle, Sylvain tries to avoid her at all costs. Somehow, she always seems to come out of nowhere and invite him to pray with her in the church. And Sylvain lets her, taking her hand with his, and guides him to salvation.

That sweet and innocent gesture struck a chord in him.

A weird kind of warmth overflows him, making his insides tingle. And when she smiles, he loses a sense of himself. With her, he feels like he’s walking midair.

_I...never felt like this before._

Everything that used to weigh him down -- the emotional trauma, the nightmares, the resentment and regrets, the pain of his lineage, all of it was gone.

When she asks him for her hand, Sylvain would reach out without hesitating. He accepts it wholeheartedly, and when she squeezes it, a smile resurfaces on his lips.

Maybe...being alive isn’t so bad.

_How lovely, that she can make such a dull and lonely world look so captivating, so beautiful._

.

.

.

Twas the night before the final battle and Sylvain found himself sneaking into the church. Unsurprisingly, Mercedes was there, the shining rays of the full moon bathing her with its divine protection. _Truly an angel sent from the Goddess._

“Sylvain. What a lovely surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking the same thing.”

Sweet, dear Mercedes gives him an earnest smile. “I came here to pray for tomorrow.” “Ah, yes. The fight for our lives would soon begin.”

Sylvain strides forward, the clicking of his boots ringing soundly in the air. His eyes are fixed on her and only her. Time stands still as he watches her slowly turn her head and stare back at him, the ethereal glow of her irises reconnecting with his.

His heart beats faster, and Sylvain worries if she could hear it.

“Are you here to pray too?”

“You could say that.” was all he could mutter as he kneels on the ground to join her. He averts his gaze to the large pile of rubble before them and then sighs.

Clasping his hands together, he bows his head and begins his chanting.

Mercedes lets him be, smiling as she simply watches.

Once he finishes, Sylvain looks up. “I’ll keep fighting like my life depends on it.” He says with a smile that can no longer reach up to his eyes. He shrugs it off, chuckling a little at his inside ‘joke’. “I mean, that’s worked for me so far. Should be able to do it again.”

A soft touch on his dry right cheek and he stills.

He turns and sees her.

Her eyes...so tender and kind.

"Talk to me, Sylvain."

Her voice was soothing, encouraging. _It’s okay. Just tell me. I won’t judge._

Sylvain brings his hand to place it over hers and breathes. “How could you be so kind to me…” He trails off, choking on his words. “When I hurt the person you loved the most?”

Even then, he still feels the guilt and it weighs down on him. Just like his Crest, he was cursed to suffer and bear it all on his own.

“I killed your family--your _brother_ , Mercedes." He croaks out, shoulders quaking. "You should be upset, be angry, slap me, or walk away right now." _I don’t deserve you._

Mercedes looks at him with an all-too-familiar smile.

“I forgive you.” She said and leaned in to place her forehead against his. “You didn’t kill him. You _saved_ him, you all did. Emilie is free from his pain.”

“I…”

“I forgive you,” Mercedes would repeat, again and again. Tears prickle from the corner of her eyes but it never ceases her to stop smiling. “I will always forgive you, Sylvain.”

And Sylvain breaks down, head burying on her chest as he cries with all his might.

“Shh...it’s alright now,” She whispers in his ear, caressing his wild red mane and lets him ride out his emotions for a good moment.

Sylvain cries more, harder, and louder. Stronger. His howls reverberated throughout the church as he exploded, and he could feel the eyes of the Saint statues and the Goddess Seiros herself watching over them.

“I’m here now. It’s okay.”

Benevolent, caring, and forgiving. Even after all these years, Mercedes was still the same as ever.

She was authentic, truly one of a kind, a special girl who he always had his eyes on since day one. And Sylvain knows this.

She has captured his heart for herself and if it were to be a badge, he’d wear it proudly. Maybe even announce it to the whole world someday, one day. Whenever she’s ready.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry, Mercedes.”

He still speaks ill of the dead, of the many lost promises and regrets pent up inside him.

She pardons him, repeating it like a broken record, her words reigning with truth hope that would mend his broken heart.

Still, Sylvain buries his face deeper into her chest, sliding his arms around her waist and holds it tight for dear life. A light, gentle stroke caresses his hair and he sighs, fatigued, and parched from his recent episode. When Sylvain looks up, he sees her so crystal clear.

Glistening tears and slightly chapped lights, heavy bags under her scarlet-rimmed, puffy eyes. _If the Goddess were real, Mercedes would be it._

“Come now, don’t make such a sad face.” She said, “Where’s that handsome smile?”

And when he does it--gathering enough energy to give her what she wants, Mercedes would light up and produce a smile only for him. “There it is,” She teases and wipes his flowing tears with her thumbs.

Sylvain said nothing, exhaling loudly and tightened his arms around her.

Her eyes, her smile, her words, her heart, her soul--she was an angel incarnate.

Mercedes was still and forever will be the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on, possibly in all the land.

“I’m here, Sylvain.” She assures, cradling his face with her hands. “I’m here.”

And she means it every time.

As morning came, their friends were shocked to find the pair in the same place, heads connected and arms wrapped around each other like a vice. In the small space between them, their hands (her right and his left) become intertwined.

.

.

.

She’s _too_ good, even for him.

And it hurts to know that he’s not the only one smitten by her. Universally loved by all, both men and women, even by those who hardly took the time to get to know her.

It’s no secret that as she grew older, more elegant and stunning, the number of suitors would increase, waiting in line and competing for her hand, most of which were nobles transcending from the former Leicester Alliance to the Adrestian Empire, bearing gifts, riches and high-born status, one that she simply cannot refuse.

Dimitri, Ferdinand, Lorenz. Even their long-lost Professor who caught her eye more than anyone else threw his hat into the ring.

It was then that Sylvain knew he had no chance.

Aside from a few common factors with his competition, Sylvain had nothing to give. Yet, he gives it one more push, pouring all his emotions into a singular letter.

She’s too good, and he knows.

But that doesn’t stop him from at least trying.

.

.

.

_To the lovely Mercedes von Matritz._

_You shine like the brightest stars in the night sky. No words can describe how much you mean to me, to all of us. I’ve adored you from afar and to this day, I still do. I’ve never met such a person who understands me in the way you have with me. When I feel defeated or disappointed, or wish to be gone from this world, I think of you and I find myself stronger again. Every day, I always feel out of place, the world, and its people judging me simply for what I have and my upbringing but not ever knowing who I really am. I'm broken, you see. Starved of love and hungry to be seen by someone, anyone who comes my way. I am a puppet on a string, groomed, and disciplined by my parents who expect great fortune and achievements out of me. What they see is nothing but an empty shell and a man who would bless them with anything they so desire. Again, they don’t see the real me._

_But with you, it’s different._

_Being around you, I feel a little freer, happier. I can breathe and finally get to see that the world isn't so bad as I used to see it. It's gotten colorful and brighter, more exciting, and open for me to roam. I can finally be myself and it's you that I must thank, for accepting the many sides of me, both the good and the bad._

_And I...I wish to keep this feeling of happiness. With you._

_I wish to share it with no one else but you, Mercedes. Bear in mind some things that I wish to address with you._

_I have a castle that will lock you in and never let you out. I have a supply of wealth and a name to raise you from your current financial state but are drenched in the blood of the many lives that came at its expense. The dark history of my ancestors, my lineage, my accursed Crest._

_I have nothing to give except for a few things that may be trivial. I bear letters and poetry, ones which I would spend all night writing as I thought of you._

_I have a special place, a tower and a window where you can take in all the beauty and splendor of my land (and it can one day be yours)._

_I bear many sins, many mistakes, and blood in my hands._

_But I want you to know that above all else, my heart still sings for you._

_Even after knowing all there is about me, will you still have me as I am--a broken man with a haunted past who wishes to see and make you happy, to be able to continue this journey called life and share the burden, the laughs, the smiles, and witness our future bear the many fruits of our love._

_Will you take me as I am…?_

_Not as the scion of House Gautier but as Sylvain?_

_._

_._

_._

Inside the castle, he fights. This time, it’s not for the sake of dying.

No, he does this for everyone.

For his friends, for Miklan.

For the man once named Emile.

For _her_.

Sylvain fights like he needs to live--like he wants to live. And he does so, with every fiber of his being, he will fight until he could no longer do so until he breathes his very last.

Whatever it takes.

” **All for our future.”**

.

.

.

A sob reaches his ears, startling him out of his stupor. Violet sputters and turns into tears— squirming and trembling under his touch.

Fear overruns his system as he laid there, helplessly watching his poor girl sobbing.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks softly and wipes away her tears with showers of kisses. “Come now, don’t cry.”

Emilia lifts her small head, sniffing. She reaches out for him, purposefully missing his waiting hand to touch his cheeks. “But you’re crying too, Daddy.”

Sylvain smiles and quickly pulls her, planting a kiss on her hand and then embracing her as tightly as he could. He doesn't say a word and neither does she. At that moment, both father and daughter bask in each other’s embrace, riding out their emotions.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

“It’s okay,” She hiccups and recoils away to look up. With her tiny hands, she cradles his face and reels him in. She stares at him with intense fire in her eyes, determined to get an answer out of him. “What about Daddy?”

“Daddy’s fine now,” Sylvain said, stroking her small back. “Thank you, buttercup.”

A light hum buzzes in his ears and he smiles, snuggling up to his little girl. The steady beats of their hearts merge into one harmonious tempo, making them whole.

“So...what happens now?” Emilia wonders, breaking silence. “Whatever happened to the boy?”

Sylvain meets her gaze, features softening. “As you know, the boy grew up and became a man.” He said and on reflex, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers brush on her rosy cheek, to which Emilia was more than happy to lean against. "He met someone very special, married her, and lived a good life with her."

“They had a daughter, a very pretty one too.” He adds in. He stops and dips to boop their noses together. Emilia lets out a giggle, reciprocating the affectionate gesture.

“Does she have a Crest like her Mommy and Daddy?”

Sylvain shakes his head, smiling still intact as Emilia puts on a pouty face.

“But that’s what makes her so very special.”

Emilia gasps, quick to look up. Heat rushes to her face as her father smiles proudly right back at her. “Even without a Crest, the daughter was loved dearly by her parents. She was and still is everything her parents ever wanted. With or without a Crest, their little girl was destined to lead her people with her greatness.”

Emilia beams. “That’s good...” She mumbles with droopy eyes. She covers her mouth and yawns. Resting her head on the pillow, she slowly retrieves her doll buried under the comforts of her blankets. “I’m...happy for her.”

Sylvain grins, tucking her in. “Yeah, me too.”

“...Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the story…”

Sylvain chuckles, patting her on the head. “Anytime,” He pecks her on the head one last time, one on the forehead, both on her squishy, pink cheeks and then on her cute button nose. “Love you, princess.”

“...’ove you, ‘addy…”

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

The airy, soothing voice of his wife greets Sylvain as he enters the master bedroom. He pauses to look up, tired eyes reconnecting with kind and loving violet.

Over the years, her ashen brown hair has grown considerably, similar to the one she had during their days at Garreg Mach. Aside from that and the growing bump in her abdomen, there was not much else to pick out.

Mercedes was still the same; voluptuous and radiant as the day he laid eyes on her, basking in the glory of the Goddess’s ethereal light in the citadel.

And here she was seven years later, curled up in their bed and reading what seems to be a series of letters. _I’ll bet those are from Annette and Ingrid._

“Welcome back.”

He strides over to join her where he was welcomed and enveloped into her arms. “It’s so good to be back.” He groans, peppering her with kisses on the temple.

Mercedes giggles, locking her arms around his neck in a vine-like grip. She pulls him in to bury her nose into his chest, inhaling his scent and sighing. She snakes a hand to card through his red mane, eliciting a low and inviting moan from him.

“How is she?”

“Doing well.” He says, leaving a few trails of kisses on the side of her head. “She asked me to tell her a bedtime story.”

Mercedes hums. “What did you tell her?”

Sylvain says nothing and pulls her in closer.

Thankfully, Mercedes took the hint and lets the passing silence fill in the void.

“She’s terrific, you know. Our little girl.”

Mercedes smiles at his choice of endearment. “I know.” She agrees. “She’s got that from you, after all.”

Sylvain smirks. "Don't flatter yourself." He teases and then dips down to plant a kiss on her lips "Trust me, love. She's _yours_.”

The blossoming of her smile left him breathless, his heart singing with joy. His hand lowers, implanting them on her growing belly.

Mercedes catches this and smiles, placing her own on top of his.

“And we are going to have another one.” She expresses, eyes shining remarkably.

Sylvain’s lips curl into a smile, one which spreads to the crinkles of his eyes. “Another addition to our happy family.”

Who could’ve thought that one of his speedy swimmers and Mercedes’s saintly eggs would be the perfect ingredients to make a perfect little girl? The eldest and brightest in her class (as quoted by her Aunt Annette) and the one to restore the Gautier name.

His family, once tethered by pain and hate, shall be doused by unconditional love. He may not have started with a happy one, but through the many twists and turns, he was glad to have lived and seen their future magically unfold.

He found his purpose.

He found happiness.

He found love.

He found them all, thanks to his angel incarnate.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my latest fanfic! I simply adore Sylcedes and I hope that in the future, I could write more of them!
> 
> If you can, feel free to check out Nenalata's incredible archives!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
> 
> And thank you kindly to my friend, @JDKoopa for proof-reading my drafts!
> 
> Okay, that's all for now! Thank you so much again and stay safe everyone!!


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